A/N: I'd like to say I knew where I was going when I wrote this, but I really didn't. And I'm not sure I even like where it went, but I decided to upload it anyways.
She's a strawberry, he realizes, his eyes glued to the blonde. He analyzed her, watched her. On the outside she was a delicate creature, her light pink lips curved into a smile more often than not, her bright blue eyes filled to the brim with kindness and compassion. A sweet, well brought up, girl.
A damn strawberry. But just as well as he knew her on the outside, he knew her on the inside. How much anger she could keep inside, how bittersweet and sour she could be. How delicate she could be while talking to a Capitol member, but at the same time, resented them so. Her smile would show one thing, but mean another.
Her eyes flicker to him, then back to the screen before them. She tried focusing her mind elsewhere, she knows that's what she should be doing, anyways. A canon could boom at any given moment for the only person she could really consider a friend, yet here she was with him. Katniss's territory.
And she hates herself for it. Yet, she still can't shake away the thoughts of what could be, for he had her heart in one of his intricate snares.
Both of their eyes are now upon the television, watching the scene change. They're thinking the same thing; he knows it, she knows it. There's going to be one less tribute left to win the games.
And as the spear travels to the little girl from district eleven, she hates herself more. Why? Because it's not Katniss, which was her first thought. It's not Katniss. The gratitude she feels disgusts her. Tonight, her face would be shown in the sky, and she had the audacity to feel thankful that it wasn't the girl on fire.
God, she hates herself.
Her hand finds his, and soon they're cutting off each other's circulation. Underneath, he's feeling hatred too, but not for himself. For he knows that none of this is his fault, but the Capitol's. The games they play go further than The Hunger Games, and he's well aware. He knows that somewhere in the Capitol, President Snow is laughing menacingly as that little girl takes her last breath, while Katniss is forced to kill the boy who did it.
God, he hates them.
Beside him, the sofa stirs as she stands to turn off the television. In the dark, they remain silent, except for the faint sound of their hearts beating in unison.
"Don't do it," he breaks the tension. Her eyebrows raise quizzically.
"Do what?" She reaches to brush a stand of hair behind her ear, her eyes fixed on the floor.
He rolls his eyes. Damn you, Undersee. "You know what I mean. It's the Capitol," her eyes widen and she lightly taps his arm in an attempt to get him to shut up. Was he really thick-headed enough to speak ill of them in her house, the mayor's house? He continues, "It's not your fault for being thankful that it wasn't Katniss."
Her heart sinks to her stomach. "I hate it," she speaks softly. "I hate them." There it is again, he thinks. A strawberry. With eyes so kind, yet a heart full of anger.
"I know," he replies. "I know." Her eyes are full to the brim with tears as she stands, staring down at the boy from the Seam who shouldn't be on her sofa. Who shouldn't be anywhere near her, and definitely should not feel the way he does about her. Katniss had to come home, there was no wiggle room. And when she did, Madge knew she didn't stand a chance.
He loves her, she silently decides. And all this will be done when she's back. No heart to hearts. No visitations. No quick kisses or talk of the Capitol when no one's listening. Done. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Goodnight, Gale."
She wants him to leave. To walk out that door and to never look back. Stop meeting her after school, stop talking to her all together. How easy it would make things just to rid Gale Hawthorne from her life. No more guilt, no more hate. But she can't. Whether he wants to be or not, Gale will always have a place reserved in Madge's heart.
He walks out the door, but not without a hug, which she did not return. Despite the lack of affection, he isn't hurt. In a way, he knows how she feels, regardless of the fact he isn't aware how she's really feeling at all. He doesn't know that everything his lips connect with hers, it's causing her to break. He doesn't know that his love is the worst thing for her, because it'll drive away the only good thing she's known - Katniss, a friend.
In Panem tonight, a boy will slip under a fence to escape reality. He'll stalk the woods, trying to rid his head and heart of the girl he knows he can't have - a girl he knows it's wrong to love. A love so bittersweet that it tastes like strawberries. While tonight, her fingers will glide over the keys on a piano, creating a piece fueled by the boy with a snare around her heart.